Dude is a mess, and I say that as someone who’s regularly been a mess herself.
I desperately want my phone.
But on top of the S. S. Lumberjack getup ruined by the boat pants, he’s also wearing the scowliest scowl that has ever scowled this side of the Scowlissippi River.
I don’t think the scowling is because it’s too hot for a flannel shirt either. It’s already eighty outside, but the air conditioning is working well.
Too well.
I’m definitely turning the temperature up in here very soon.
He sips the coffee I made him from the ancient Miles2Go to-go mug that I found in one of the cabinets and cleaned for him. The side of the cup is decorated with the original version of Cupholder, the hermit crab mascot for M2G who got a makeover at some point between my childhood and Margot starting to date Oliver, and there’s a dent in one side that makes me question how long it will keep his coffee warm.
But how serendipitous that I could give him that mug.
Remind him of all the good parts of Miles2Go.
“No talking on my road trips,” he says.
“Talking is half the fun of road trips.”
He grunts.
“Are you going to have a no-food-in-the-car rule too?”
“Yes. Be quiet. I’m driving.”
I humor him and zip my trap for a while.
Contrary to what I’m sure he believes, I’m not intentionally trying to bait him, even if his cheek twitches every time I shift in my seat, making my dress squeak against the rough cloth.
And even if I’m shifting a lot.
I don’t sit still well. And that’s a personality feature, not a bug, now that I’ve found what I’m supposed to do in life and the people who accept me for who I am.
The people who are going to be rightfully pissed if I don’t figure out a way to give them a call and let them know I’m okay and slightly delayed in getting home.
I’m trying to sit as still as I can. I can’t talk him into going back home and continuing to run Miles2Go if I’ve over-annoyed him, and I haven’t yet figured out how to reverse psychology the situation.
I make it all of seven minutes. “Margot said you had electric car charging stations installed at hundreds of M2G locations around the country. So what’s with the full-gas car?”
He doesn’t answer.
It’s like sitting with every other businessman I’ve ever had to be around in my entire life.
Appreciate that Oliver made it possible for the nonprofit I work for to exist and gave jobs to a dozen amazing people who are doing so much good work for the world? Not to mention the other charities and nonprofits that he funded with Miles2Go revenue?
Yes.
Want to be around him?
No.
I’ve played out this conversation in my head a thousand times since I snuck out of the shack last night after I was sure he was asleep and broke into both the Mercedes and the Camry to look for clues about what he was up to, and it always ends the same.
I could say,So, Oliver, I work for Beeslieve now—yes, yes, it’s a pun on the word “believe” with “bees” in it—and we’re doing great work with the state department of transportation to get wildflowers planted for bees and to make better crossing routes for suburban wildlife with strategically placed natural-style fencing, and you’ve been funding us, so if you could return to work on Monday morning and keep doing what you’re doing so that we can keep doing what we’re doing, that would be great.
And he’d sayShove it up your ass, Daphne, you’re a disaster, you’ve always been a disaster, you will always be a disaster, you couldn’t even have a five-minute conversation with me without ruining my life, and even if I go back to work on Monday, I’d make sure that we shift money away from your company and onto someone else’s to make you pay for the heartburn you’ve given me.
